


Sugarpush

by sansapotter



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Swing Dancing, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-17 23:33:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11861946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sansapotter/pseuds/sansapotter
Summary: Sansa found she liked it better outside, the music just as exciting, but out here she could hear Jon’s embarrassed laughter, and his soft apologies when he stepped on her toes. It took him more than one song to find the rhythm that came so easy to her. It took more than three for him to cast her out, then pull her back in; her reaction drew what she could only imagine was a rare smile from him.





	Sugarpush

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Black_Hole_of_Procrastination](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Black_Hole_of_Procrastination/gifts).



> And this one was for blackholeofprocrastination's birthday last year, so I'm finally getting around to posting it. I'm not sure if the title is actually relevant to the dancing of the time, but here we are.

The earth was dry under their feet, her heels would be dusty after. The windows offered a dim glow from inside the hall, the moon made up the rest. Sansa could barely see the olive of Jon’s uniform, the vibrant blue dress she borrowed from Margaery looked navy in the dim light but Jon didn’t seem to mind. The way he looked at her made her heart race, this familiar boy with an unfamiliar gaze. He set their cokes on a window ledge before offering his hand.

“You can’t laugh,” Jon said meeting her eyes. “I’m no good at this.” This was the boy she knew, cautious and shy. She heard herself counting along to the beat, trying her best not to lead him. The band played an upbeat jive, and the crowd inside was loving it.

Sansa found she liked it better outside, the music just as exciting, but out here she could hear Jon’s embarrassed laughter, and his soft apologies when he stepped on her toes. It took him more than one song to find the rhythm that came so easy to her. It took more than three for him to cast her out, then pull her back in; her reaction drew what she could only imagine was a rare smile from him. 

She didn’t expect this solemn northern soldier to help her forget like this. It wasn’t forgetting at all though, it was remembering, it was coping like she hadn’t been able to do since the notice had come through. He let her bury her nose in his neck when the memory became too much, and she could close her eyes until they were no longer heavy with tears. Jon pretended not to notice. 

“You’re not so bad at this,” she teased by the fifth song, as their feet moved naturally, chest to chest, it felt more intimate than any dancing she’d ever done, the music slowed, but she didn’t feel like pulling away just yet. “I knew you were lying.” 

“Trying to spare you,” she felt the press of his head against hers, probably flattening the curls Myranda worked so hard to achieve. “I don’t think I’ve danced like this since I was a boy.” He talked into her hair, and she felt herself relax against him. As relaxed as her borrowed dress would allow. 

“Who did you dance with?” He knew she learned with Robb, rushing home after school to turn up the radio. Jon tripped over her feet again, and gave her an apologetic lift of his brows when he saw her wince.

“My mother.” He twirled her, eyes bright at the high sound of her laugh when the skirt kicked up. “She wanted me to be current.”

“I didn’t know that.” She said softly, taking her place once more, breathless from the movement. “You keep a lot of secrets Jon Snow,” she meant to be teasing, but if it didn’t sound like a whisper from one lover to another. His response did nothing to quell her imaginings, only fueled them.

“You only have to ask.” 

She knew she pulled away too quick, that her excuse was flat, and her motions to get her cola were only half true. Jon didn’t mention it, taking his own coke and leaning against the hall an arms length away from her. She pressed the lukewarm bottle to her neck in the hopes it would cool her off, and pull her senses back together. He twisted the bottle idly in his hands, watching the label disappear and reappear a dozen times before he said,

“You aren’t like I remember.”

“No?” She let her eyes focus on the red stain of lipstick on the rim of her bottle, “I don’t think anyone’s the same.” 

“You wouldn’t have danced with me back then, and it wouldn’t have bothered you at all.” Maybe that was true. Jon had his crowd back home, and Sansa always thought there were more handsome men to look at. Clean cut men who smiled easily and could heft her into a hip lift with graceful ease. They wouldn’t pretend that she wasn’t crying into their shoulders so she could maintain her pride, they would gallantly offer her embroidered kerchiefs and dab at her eyes until the mascara tracks disappeared. 

She swiped her thumb under her eyes blindly, embarrassed that she hadn’t done it sooner. “No, I don’t suppose I would have.” She murmured, “but maybe it’s better that it happened now. That after all that’s gone on, we found ourselves here, together.” Everything felt still after that, like she revealed too much, and the magic was dissolving around her. Jon’s eyes avoided hers, “forget I said anything, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“You haven’t.” Jon said quickly, but she wasn’t convinced. “I never thought I’d hear you say that is all.”

“What do you mean?” She inched closer to him, it was almost like she couldn’t be kept away. Shoulder to shoulder she could almost feel him working over the right words to say. Robb always used to tease him about being inside of himself, she forgot about it until she stood side by side with him. He watched her thoughtfully before he nodded to himself.

“I thought I was so obvious.” He said, almost to himself, “I always wanted you to notice me,” his laugh was more an embarrassed huff. “You were the prettiest girl I’d ever seen, the first time Robb ever brought me to the house I told him so.” She felt herself blush at that, “I walked home with you whenever I could, and I realized you were so much more.” He tipped his head back, resting it against the wood of the wall. “He told me I should tell you, probably a hundred times, but I waited too long,” he looked to the starry sky, “he’ll never know I finally got the nerve.”

“He would know,” Sansa insisted. She’d been living each day like she could tell her brother about it when he came back. When word reached her that he wouldn’t come back, suddenly her brother became the all-seeing figure in her life. It was her only source of comfort until now. 

In a startlingly forward motion she took his hand once more, pulling him back to their makeshift dancefloor. His eyes were curious on her, as she started to move as if nothing had changed. Feet moving to the beat, twirling, sent out, brought back in, she looked up at him through her lashes. He met her halfway, kissing her breathless, like they’d been dancing for hours instead of minutes. 

She shrieked in delight when he lifted her at the waist. He was looking up at her with a broad grin, and she was dizzy with it. He eased her down until they were face to face. “We should go back,” Jon said softly, pressing his forehead to hers once her feet were back on the ground. Lipstick was smeared on the corner of his mouth, bright and so out of place. She kissed him again, shyly, feeling his hands tighten on her waist. HIs smile was lazy, and his mouth chased her thumb when it came up to brush the lipstick off of his face. “This doesn’t have to be the end,”

“I know,” she said, feeling like it was.

“I’ll take you back to Winterfell with me, name the day and we’ll go.” He promised, bringing their linked hands up and kissing her knuckles. He looked like he wanted to say more, but she wouldn’t press, she wasn’t sure she was ready to hear it. 

“My parent’s won’t stand for me taking such a trip unchaperoned,” she said, putting on airs, “you’ll have to write to them.”

“Of course,” he straightened, as though the thought had only just occurred. “Nothing until they write back.”

“And you’ll still want to take me home come morning?”

“I’d wait forever,” and she let him lead her back into the hall, trying to keep her smile from breaking into a grin.

**Author's Note:**

> You can get at me on [ tumblr ](http://sansapotter.tumblr.com/), most of the time I post things there first, and then wait 84 years to cross post.


End file.
